Disclaimer: Although there is very little in this chapter that I have to disclaim, I will say I own nothing relating to Lord of the Rings or any other work of J.R.R. Tolkien or any other tidbit that might be used later on that is not my own, will comment on those as they come up.

The Beginning

It was in my twentieth year that I, Eruanna-Mernaseld of the House of the Tree, found myself in a position for which I was never expecting to find myself or that I was ever prepared for. I was a mortal and by the standards of my people had just reached adulthood. I was intelligent, considered quite gifted by my people and I had a life full of possibilities before me. It was the year two-thousand and four common ear, and I was a second year university student major in political science and linguistics. I was my plan to become an activist for human rights working.

I lived in a world that had forgotten what joy there was in simplicity. A world of 200 some countries separated into three different groups. The poorest countries in my world were known as the third world, general ravaged by wars. Most were in the southern hemisphere. In those countries pain, suffering, hunger and disease were rampant. The living conditions for the majority of the populous were deplorable. They had no money and what money they did have was more often then not going to fund a war. Next there were the developing nations; these were countries that were beginning to find their feet. They were starting to come out of that black hole of poverty that was the third world. Yet still many struggled. The first world was formed from the wealthiest countries, generally holding to some sort of democratic system of government. They controlled most of the monetary wealth in the world and had a relatively higher standard of living.

No matter where you lived in the world it was apparent that it wasn't an altogether happy place. Wars were fought constantly. A week wouldn't go by that one wouldn't here of someone dieing cause someone didn't like their country or their faith. I remember now as clearly as the day it happened when 4 passenger jets were high jacked and 2 were flown into the Twin Towers in New York and 1 one in to the Pentagon the military base of the most powerful nation in the world. The forth plane crashed into the ground. The people on aboard over came the high jackers and destroyed the plane before it could reach its target. In this act they showed themselves heroes as they gave their lives to save others, a heroism that I later saw many times over but that was rare in my own time. The death and tragedy did not end with the hundreds that died that day. That one acted of terrorism lead to years of war.

War, I hate the very word. The act of war caused so much heartache in the world of my birth. Yet, I was never any where near it. I lived my life in a country known for its stance on freedom and peace. It was called Canada, located north 49 degrees north latitude. Many associated my country with her winters and natural resources. It was the second largest nation in the world as far as land mass but with one of the smallest population densities seeing that much of it was empty wilderness.

I grew up roaming through her forests and swimming in her lakes. My father, being a geologist, had passion for the study of the nature world and took joy in teaching his daughter and son all that he knew. He took us to the east coast and the west saying that in seeing the variety that our land processed we would come to learn about her best, and through that knowledge understand that our world was gift that we had to cherish with all our hearts.

By the time I was twenty I had travelled much of the length of my country with my parents. I had learnt survival skills, being able to find shelter in the wilderness for a night or two. I had a basic knowledge of botany and knew what plants could be eaten and which could kill you. These skills did little to help me in the challenge I had ahead of me but I did not know that at the time.

I chose to go to school at a small University in Northern Ontario. The city was much to my liking as there were many trees there due to the reforestation effort. Unlike many North American cities it didn't look as though a cement truck had run over it. Often when the paths were not snowbound I would walk home from school along the forested path that led from Campus in to the city proper. I would put on my headphones and listened to songs written about my country. I loved Canada with all her heritage. I loved the music that spoke of the courage to survive anything she would throw at us.

I am of Scottish decent from the Clan Buchanan. I felt a great connection both to Scotland, the land of my father's people but also to Newfoundland, from whence my mother's people came. Both were places where the old ways still lived, and legend had not been forgotten entirely. It was through these familial connections that my interest in linguistics had sprung.

I had been taught Gaelic at my grandmother's knee. My grandmother Buchanan had been raised on a little isolated isle in the northern sea; she did not see a city until she had turned twenty. As a child she had spoken Gaelic, and although she had learnt English in school she loved the old language of the Celts best. Few knew the ancient language of the Celt. I loved it, especially the songs which were so sad but utterly beautiful.

I hated however, that our history was so full of pain and war. As I said, war infected the world of my birth and it was bred into us. All I had to do was think of those clan markers at Culloden to know that. How many of my ancestors lay unmarked in that field I will never know. It hurt to think of it. How many children grew up with out the love of their fathers? How many mothers mourned for lost sons? How many young wives lamented when their gallant husbands did not return home?

However, if I thought I hated war at twenty, I was soon to learn that I had not begun to loath it. Although war infested the world of my birth like a harmful pest, the evil there was only human. It was evil generated through the choices and intolerance of the people of the world. I would soon to learn there were far greater evils. There were things of the ancient that could freeze you to the depths of your heart, and implant fears that you would never forget.

I was walking home one day in early spring just after the ice had broken up in the lakes. I remember my batteries dieing in my mp3 player as I came for a fork in the road. Putting the small electronic device in my backpack I decided that, seeing the path to the beach on Minnow Lake was open and free of snow, I would go walk up to the cliff that was just beyond it. It was a bit of a hike so I left my school bag at the base of the cliff to make the climb easier, it was nice to be free of its weight. I reached the summit and stood letting the wind blow my hair away from my face. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

My mind went back to a spring day a couple years before when I had stood next to Loch Lommond in Scotland not far from where the ancestral Castle of Clan Buchanan stood. I imagined I stood on the rampart of an ancient Scottish keep watching my Laird ride home. I closed my eyes and I could almost hear the tattoo of the drums and the cry of the bagpipes. Then the wind changed.

Please feal free to review and to criticize this story to your hearts content this story well being a project I'm very enthusiastic about is also a way for me to improve my writing, but I can't do that with out feed back. Any questions or comments you wish to give and don't feel free doing so through review email me at . Hope you enjoy the rest of the story. Namarie